


All tangled up

by embeer2004



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: (Triss), Bondage, Consensual, Established Relationship, Kink Exploration, M/M, Multi, No cheating despite the tags, Non-Sexual Bondage, Past Relationship(s), Platonic BDSM, Self learning, Understanding, discovering kink, fantasies, in the background (Yennefer), minor flashbacks, starts out as self defence, then it turns into, with hints of noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embeer2004/pseuds/embeer2004
Summary: Lambert, Lambert, what a prick.One thing Geralt’s certain of, though, and that’s that he’s not interested in his brother's prick, no matter how much Lambertisn’tacting like one at the moment. Geralt has a very clear feeling that Lambert’s not interested in him that way either, and that suits him just fine.Or:Geralt wakes up and finds himself in an unusual position, thanks to Lambert. His brother explains how it was self defence, but for Geralt it becomes so much more…
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Comments: 21
Kudos: 106
Collections: Witcher Kinkmeme Collection





	All tangled up

Even before Geralt opens his eyes he knows that something’s wrong. He’s lying on his side, on something soft, but the position he’s in feels awkward, and his face… his face feels all wrong. His jaw aches and there’s something stuck between his teeth, drawn tight into his mouth and pressing hard into the corners of his mouth. The pressure on his cheeks and the back of his head paint a clear enough image.  
  
Instinctively, his tongue drags over the intrusion in his mouth, trying to figure out what it is. The thing tastes like metal, and from what he can feel it seems an awful lot like the bit of a horse’s bridle. He works his jaw and pushes on the bit with his tongue, but the thing won’t budge, confirming his suspicion that the bit gag has been tied well in place.  
  
His shoulders feel tight… tense, and when he tries to reach up towards the gag his legs jerk up behind him. He can just feel it now, how his hands are tied behind his back. That at least explains the strain on his shoulders. Stretching his legs, Geralt’s upper body contorts in an awkward angle, so he curls his legs back the way they were, immediately feeling the strain lessen.  
  
Someone did a good job tying him up.  
  
“Ah,” a voice calls out softly, “you’re awake.”  
  
Opening his eyes, he frowns at the haziness of the world and he has to blink a few times for the remains of a campfire to become clear. There’s a figure behind it, and it looks dark and imposing in the light of pre-dawn.  
  
For an instant he sees skeletal armour lurking across the distance.  
  
Shuddering a breath, Geralt jerks back and tries to move. To get far away from the figure. A burst of icy cold rushes through his veins, and somewhere close by unearthly hounds howl a song, calling out for the pack to hunt.  
  
Geralt closes his eyes and rubs his temple against the soft thing beneath him, trying to ground himself in the present.  
  
“Finally, you jackass,” the voice continues in a familiar drawl, making him look up.  
  
The figure’s moved closer, and with another blink its outlines clear and the panic that’s been gripping Geralt’s mind releases its hold as he recognises Lambert’s familiar figure.  
  
The unearthly hounds have turned silent.  
  
Trying to get up, Geralt frowns, feeling the pull on his arms and legs. So he hadn’t imagined being tied up. Did Lambert do this to him, or was he coming to his rescue? And why can’t he remember how he has gotten into this position? He’d been on a contract before, a contract on…  
  
A sense of worry starts niggling at him as he can’t remember.  
  
Lambert is crouching by his side, looking at him, but he’s not making any move to free him.  
  
Geralt freezes. Perhaps this isn’t Lambert, after all. His brother wouldn’t leave him tied up like this just for a prank, that wasn’t Lambert’s style.  
  
“Ahm-uh?” Geralt asks, struggling to speak around the bit. The metal in his mouth definitely feels weird, and it’s effectively preventing him from closing his mouth. It also makes it impossible to swallow and he can feel the sticky wetness of his saliva dribbling down his chin.  
  
Lambert tilts his head, and Geralt recognises the look on his face. His brother’s eyes look wary, and though to an outsider Lambert’s pose would seem relaxed Geralt can easily see the tenseness in his pose. Lambert is on his guard, something is worrying his brother. “Geralt? You with me again?”  
  
“Hahnn. Ajhh,” he responds, instantly becoming annoyed by the metal in his mouth. He lifts his hand to remove it, but his body twists and his bound limbs flail. Of course. Breathing out loudly, feeling exasperated, he glares at Lambert.  
  
Lambert shakes his head, a wry smile twisting his lips. “Yeah, sorry, not sorry. You were coming at me and did anyone ever tell you, you got freaking _fangs_?”  
  
“Oahng?” Why is Lambert so surprised about that?  
  
Lambert nods and pushes at the collar of his own armour, then points towards his neck. There’s an impressive bruise there, and there are teeth marks right in the middle of it. “Don’t know what got into you. Well, didn’t _before_ , when you acted all like a bloody leech…”  
  
Wiggling, Geralt quirks an eyebrow at Lambert. That makes no sense.  
  
Seeing his look, Lambert raises his hands and holds them up, palms towards him. “I’m serious, Geralt. I met up with you last night, as we’d agreed, and when I arrived you’d all settled in nice and cosy. Roach was untacked, and you were sitting next to the fire. Think you’d been cleaning her gear before, but when you saw me you just… _smiled_ and came at me without even saying so much as a ‘Hello Lambert’.” Nodding his head, Lambert points a finger back to the mark on his neck and then turns it accusingly towards Geralt. “Caught me by surprise. A kick to your balls and an axii later and I knew something was up.” A sheepish look appears on his face. “If you’d have been in your right mind I never could have gotten the drop on you,” he admits begrudgingly.  
  
Geralt breathes loudly through his nose and, not even trying to vocalise his question this time, he turns his head, trying to look over his shoulder. He struggles against his bindings, just in case it isn’t clear enough to Lambert what he’s asking.  
  
Lambert rubs a hand over his own mouth before reaching towards Geralt’s, but his fingers stop right above his lips; hovering, not touching. “You shook off the axii like a wolf shakes water from its fur. So yeah, hit you with it again and used my own belt and your horse’s reins to tie you up; only thing I had close at hand. Been waiting for you to come around from whatever had gotten into you, but during the night an alp appeared. From the looks of it, think it was a hybrid of some kind. Killed it.” Lambert points his thumb back behind him, but whatever he’s pointing at, Geralt simply can’t see, lying down like this. “She got her fangs on your neck, expect you would’ve started hallucinating right after. Venom should be outta your system about now, though.”  
  
Geralt doesn’t recall any of this.  
  
Breathing in deeply, he crawls towards Lambert, but his upper body twists awkwardly the moment he moves his legs and he knows he’s stuck. He stops trying to get closer and instead wiggles a bit where he lies, trying to find a more comfortable position. If he stays like this, the way he was when he woke up, he’s not all too uncomfortable, actually.  
  
Spreading his wrists out as far as he can, which is just a little twitch within the confines of the restrictive leather, Geralt is impressed with how well the bonds hold him, yet aren’t a source of too much discomfort. Not if he remains a bit curled up so there’s a slack in the reins connecting his wrists to his ankles. With the many loops that are wrapped around his forearms, Geralt’s fairly sure that those are Roach’ reins. He sighs inwardly, hoping that Lambert won’t have to _cut_ those off in a moment. Gear’s expensive…  
  
Trying to think back to what had happened, Geralt has to give up and accept that he’s missing time. It’s obvious he mustn’t have been in his right mind, seeing as Lambert _had_ gotten the drop on him. He feels normal right now though, and didn’t Lambert say he’d killed an alp, or a hybrid of some sort?  
  
Huh.  
  
Geralt is keenly aware of how his breathing is speeding up as he struggles against his leather bindings, wanting Lambert to _get the hint_. He twists against his bonds, _testing_ , and he’s confused as a warm shiver runs through his body. He stills. For some reason he’s intrigued with the way his body’s tied up. This feeling… It’s nothing he’s ever felt before.  
  
Being tied up by some guards with cold metal cuffs after receiving a beating just didn’t do it for him.  
  
But this…  
  
The leather around his wrists and forearms feels warm and clingy. Like a tight embrace, and the feeling… he doesn’t understand it. Geralt’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. He loves his brother, but he's not sure what to think of _Lambert_ being the one to witness his freakiness.   
  
Perhaps he still _is_ suffering a bit from the monster’s bite? Geralt looks at Lambert, at the soft flesh beneath his jaw. No. At least, no urge to take a bite and sip from there. And damn, that giant hickey he’s apparently given Lambert looks painful. _  
_  
He tries to shift, and a moan escapes his throat. He doesn’t understand why his body’s starting to feel all warm and tingly in a way he’s only experienced when making love to Yen.  
  
A small voice in the back of his mind sneeringly taunts him. _You let Triss tie you up. You **like** this.  
_  
No… Yes… He’d let her tie him up, but that was because she'd asked, wanted to play. Geralt still doesn’t understand why he'd said ‘yes’ to her even though his mind had been screaming at the whole idea. He really hadn’t liked her role-play experiments, but something had compelled him to give her what she’d wanted.  
  
Gasping a shallow breath, Geralt shakes away his nasty memories. He’s with Yen again, and they’re happily living in Corvo Bianco. He’s even become fond of that damned unicorn…  
  
But this here, right now… _This_ is different, _good_ different, and it’s not because he’s tied up with warm leather instead of cold dimeritium.  
  
Geralt’s tongue strokes over the metal in his mouth. With the bit gagging his mouth he really can’t speak in an intelligible manner, and he’s becoming acutely aware of the steady trickle of his own saliva and the cool wet patch beneath his cheek.  
  
He shudders and nearly expects to see his breath frosting in the air. He frantically starts rubbing his temple over the soft material he’s lying on, refusing to let the memory take hold.  
  
A soft rustling next to him makes him look back. Lambert’s shifted closer and is kneeling right next to him, the fingers of his left hand tracing the leather of the bridle to the back of his head.  
  
Inhaling sharply, Geralt turns his head _away_ from Lambert’s probing fingers, and he pushes off with his bound legs the best way he can, twisting his upper body in the process, trying to…  
  
Trying to prevent Lambert from freeing him, if he’s being honest with himself.  
  
Immediately, he feels embarrassed at his reactions, at his _behaviour_ , and he can’t decide whether the fluttering going on in his gut is a good or a bad thing. He closes his eyes, anxious about Lambert’s reaction and afraid he’s just signed himself up for a shitload of never-ending torment. The heat settling in the lower part of his belly and the tightness there feel _so good_ though.  
  
Lambert can’t understand. _Geralt_ doesn’t even understand why he’s acting like this.  
  
But he _wants_ … _  
  
_“Geralt?” Lambert quietly asks, letting his hand drop to his side and watching him with a curious tilt to his head, his eyes roving over his body from top to toe. “Ah,” he finally says, staring at Geralt’s crotch, his brow twisting up with realisation.  
  
Tensing, Geralt squeezes his eyes tightly shut and clamps his jaw down on the bit stuck between his teeth, trying to prepare himself for the oncoming ridicule. He hardly dares to breathe, fearing even _that_ will be enough to provoke Lambert, yet he cannot prevent a pitiful whimper from escaping his throat.  
  
Right after his pathetic display, there is a light touch on his cheek. Gently, _oh so gently_ , Lambert’s fingers start trailing the strip of skin right above his cheek strap; touching him with gentle and light strokes. “Shhh,” Lambert hushes quietly, trailing his fingers up and into his hair before repeating the soothing caress. And again.  
  
Not questioning Lambert’s unexpected behaviour, Geralt presses up into Lambert’s touch, craving for this _thing_ to continue for just a while longer. He keeps his eyes closed and nervously starts chewing his bit.  
  
“Shh, Geralt,” Lambert tries to soothe him, not stopping what he’s doing, “you’re trembling. Can you look at me?”  
  
Huffing out a breath, Geralt keeps his eyes closed. Then Lambert’s fingers disappear and Geralt tilts his head up, trying to follow. Disappointed, he opens his eyes, and the moment he does he’s rewarded with Lambert’s hand cupping his cheek, his thumb tracing over his cheek strap.  
  
Geralt presses up into Lambert's hand, silently begging. For what he doesn't know, but that’s _understanding_ in Lambert’s eyes, and what Lambert said must have been true, because all of a sudden he can feel the way his body’s shuddering. He’s feeling hot and cold at the same time and he _wants_ something, _needs_ it and it’s so frustrating that he doesn’t know what it is.  
  
“Didn’t see this coming,” Lambert starts, moving his hand just a bit so his thumb touches Geralt’s lower lip, “but there’s nothing wrong with what you’re feeling right now.”  
  
This time, Geralt whines quietly.  
  
And that’s a familiar Lambert smirk right there, bringing some normalcy to the situation. “Let's see if I get this straight…” he says calmly, and Lambert being calm and gentle is such a rare thing, it makes the whole situation feel surreal. “You're not ready for me to release you? The bit in your mouth can't be all that comfortable, sure you don't want it out?”  
  
Geralt’s tongue battles around the bit as he tries to pronounce his answer. “Ooeeh,” however, is what comes out.  
  
“Really can’t understand you like this,” Lambert says thoughtfully, looking at Geralt intently. Before Geralt can even so much as shake his head instead, Lambert shakes his own and reaches behind him, grasping one of his hands and giving it a light squeeze. “And I’m an idiot; didn’t ask you correctly.”  
  
Immediately, Geralt latches onto the hand Lambert’s offering and returns the squeeze, trailing his thumb over the back of Lambert’s hand.  
  
Lambert looks at him, and that’s an actual smile on his face. “For clarity, Geralt. One squeeze if you wish me to unbind you, two if you would like to stay like this for a bit longer to _explore_.”  
  
Geralt releases a sigh of relief and squeezes Lambert’s hand, two times. He’s feeling a bit silly at the way he doesn’t want Lambert to remove the bit gag, not even for a moment to obtain a clear answer, and he’s _so_ immensely glad his brother found another way to ask for clarification.  
  
Like this. _This_ is what he wants.  
  
There’s none of the nasty skin crawling he’d experienced with Triss. _  
_  
He’s _safe_ under Lambert’s watch.  
  
Lambert, who'd tied him up in self defence to stop Geralt from mauling him. Lambert, who’d stayed with him, _waiting for him_ to wake up. Lambert, who, like a good witcher, was making sure Geralt was truly back to himself and didn’t pose a danger to anyone before freeing him.  
  
Lambert, who listens to him even while he can’t speak and lets him _have_ this.  
  
_Lambert, Lambert, what a prick.  
  
_One thing Geralt’s certain of, though, and that’s that he’s not interested in his brother's prick, no matter how much Lambert _isn’t_ acting like one at the moment. Geralt has a very clear feeling that Lambert’s not interested in him that way either, and that suits him just fine.  
  
Lambert’s carefulness though… The way he is showing the patient and caring part of him he usually keeps hidden, and all because Geralt…  
  
Because Geralt wants something he can’t even put into words.  
  
“Hey, you doing all right?” Lambert asks as he leans a bit backwards to catch his eyes, still holding onto Geralt’s hand.  
  
Geralt’s cheeks are burning as he meets Lambert’s gaze head on. He purposefully blinks slowly a few times and rubs his thumb along the back of Lambert’s hand before following up with two squeezes as he’d done before.  
  
Lambert rubs his own thumb soothingly over Geralt’s fingers, and one of his eyebrows is crawling its way up his forehead as he watches Geralt. Finally he nods towards the ground. “I'm sure you know how good that’s going to feel, so go wild, if you want that. I'm not one to judge. Not on this…”   
  
There’s a lump lodged in his throat all of a sudden and Geralt tries to swallow to make it go away. The metal bit makes swallowing that much harder though, practically impossible, and he resigns himself to feeling the steady dribble of saliva trickling down his chin. He squeezes Lambert’s hand one more time before releasing it and scooting a bit back.  
  
Feeling unsure on what to do next, Geralt straightens his legs just enough to cause his arms to be pulled straight down, but not enough to make his back arch backwards. Then, with a slight jerk of his hips, combined with a push of his feet, he manages to roll over onto his belly. This position makes him search for a new and precarious balance. When he straightens his legs, his upper body’s lifted from the ground, and both his legs and his arms tremble from the strain he’s forcing on himself.  
  
And, oh how easy it is to bend his legs, creating enough slack in the straps connecting his ankles to his wrists, allowing him to press his cheek to the cool material of what he now recognises to be his own bedroll. He can easily grasp his boots like this, and he feels what he recognises to be a belt as he burrows his tied hands in between his feet, but for the life of him he can’t figure out where the buckle is, or any of the knots Lambert used in his ties.  
  
Geralt gives up on trying to find the belt buckle, it’s not like he’s gonna give up on whatever this is so soon.  
  
He lowers his legs, making it easier for him to lift his chest from the ground. Instinctively, his eyes seek out Lambert, and how could his brother still be kneeling next to him, looking all patient and understanding with his hands lying open in his lap as he silently watches Geralt?  
  
“You should try some rocking,” Lambert tells him quietly, a knowing smirk pulling on his lips. “That’ll get you started.”  
  
Feeling his brow furrow, Geralt ponders the idea for a bit. The way he’s lying on his front right now really makes him aware of his body and wherever he touches the bedroll. One area in particular is building up a nice pressure. He folds his legs up and tries to grasp the belt with his hands again, creating even more pressure at _just_ the spot as he follows Lambert’s suggestion and starts rocking back and forth.  
  
The world fades as Geralt focuses on the sensations he can draw from his bound body. He likes the way the cheek straps press into his mouth, though he’s less fond of the way there’s a sticky trail travelling down his cheek the entire time. He _loves_ the way the bit is preventing his tongue from moving freely in his mouth. Incapable of coherent speech, he’s really depending on Lambert to figure out his wants and needs, and that makes it even better.  
  
Geralt can imagine him and Yen doing this back in Corvo Bianco. His lover is open to so many ideas, how come they’d never tried this?  
  
_He’s alone, rubbing a healing salve onto his bruised wrists. His mind feels like its stuffed with cotton. He doesn’t like it, and he hates the way the dimeritium cuffs are mocking him from where they’re lying on the bed.  
_  
Geralt gasps, and the world starts spinning around him.  
  
“Hey, keep breathing. Slow, deep breaths… can you do that?” Lambert’s voice is low and rumbling, a perfect anchor to stop the world’s mad turning.  
  
Geralt can feel warm touches on his arms and legs and then he’s being rolled onto his side.  
  
“ _Breathe_ , Geralt,” Lambert orders him, shifting Geralt’s arms a bit higher and bending his legs for him. “Come on, pretty boy, there’s this thing called _breathing_ that you really, _really_ , have to remember to keep doing.”  
  
Geralt huffs at hearing the awful nickname. He fumbles a swallow, and the dizziness lessens as he focuses on breathing through his nose. He imagines different pieces of the memory being blown away on his exhales, until finally there’s a blankness in its stead.  
  
Somehow he ended up holding onto Lambert’s hand again, and the moment Geralt realises how tightly he’s grasping it he forces his own hand to relax.  
  
“Do you want me to untie you?” Lambert asks, tilting Geralt’s chin up with his other hand. “Squeeze once if you do.”  
  
Thoughts are racing through Geralt’s mind. He _likes_ what had been going on right before, and he refuses to let it be taken away from him before he even has a chance to _have_ it. He wants to _explore_ this.  
  
He lets go of Lambert’s hand and shakes his head.  
  
“All right.” Lambert gives a small pat on his hip before shuffling back on his knees, giving Geralt some space.  
  
Geralt can’t voice how much he appreciates his brother for going along with this, for looking out for him and making sure he’s safe. Rolling onto his front again, he starts seeking the fascinating friction of just moments before and lets his mind drift as he thinks of Yennefer’s beautiful eyes and silky locks.  
  
He imagines he can smell lilacs and gooseberries…  
  
He imagines Yen, sitting next to him like Lambert is right now, observing him and making sure he is safe while Geralt’s testing his own limits. He imagines Yen, sitting on top of him, caressing him as she wraps him up in leather and rope… He imagines Yen, daring him to retrieve an apple from the kitchen and bring it back to her as she’s waiting for him on top of her unicorn, while he’s all trussed up similar to this. Accepting the dare would mean a lot of crawling and wriggling and getting the needed friction where he wants it, but she’d order him to wait and hold on, and her types of reward are _so worth it_ that he’d do anything she asked.  
  
_Bliss_ …  
  
The first thing he notices as he’s coming back to himself is that his head is lying in Lambert’s lap. His body’s still shuddering lightly as he’s drifting on the waves of his aftershocks. He feels content and relaxed. Like his mind’s drifting. Calm…  
  
Lambert is running lightly scratching fingers through his hair, and it feels _amazing_.  
  
“Ah, back with me, are you? Man, but you had a good thing going on there,” Lambert says with quiet admiration in his voice.  
  
Geralt turns his head up into Lambert’s movements, seeking the comfort of another’s touch. He’s feeling worn out, and all weak, though not unpleasantly so, but it requires too much effort to lift his head, so he lets himself sink back to Lambert’s lap again. He winces, feeling the cool wetness beneath his cheek from where he’d obviously been drooling over his brother’s leg for quite a while now.  
  
“Not to spoil your fun, but you look wrecked enough for this turn. You ready to be released?” Lambert’s hand keeps running through his hair, but Geralt can see him look around them in a way he knows means Lambert’s scouting out the area.  
  
Geralt is curious still, but he feels completely exhausted, though all tingly and relaxed, happily sated. He fears that the only thing that’s preventing him from melting into a puddle of witcher are Lambert’s improvised bonds, but the time of day is approaching that people will be out and about soon and while their camp isn’t visible from the road, people frequent these woods often enough, solidifying his decision.  
  
"Oeehh," he answers Lambert. The moment he hears his own voice he sighs.  
  
Smirking, Lambert takes his hand in the by now strangely familiar ritual, and he squeezes it gently. “Right. Squeeze one time if you want loose, two times if you need just a little bit more time like this.”  
  
Closing his eyes, Geralt squeezes. Just once.  
  
A light touch on his cheek, tilting his head to the right, makes him open his eyes. Lambert’s still smirking, and there’s a glint in his eyes that Geralt’s seen right before one of Vesemir’s tirades. There’s something else in Lambert’s eyes as well though, but Geralt can’t pinpoint what it is.  
  
“You're all friggin’ cute like this,” Lambert says, and that sounds more like him, though the tone he uses is anything but sarcastic. He actually sounds like seeing Geralt like this is the equivalent of petting a cute kitten. “I'm starting to get what the other party gets out of this.”  
  
Geralt has to strain his ears to hear that last part, and he’s feeling puzzled for a moment, but then his thoughts drift away from him as Lambert shifts him and lays him down on the ground.  
  
His legs are freed pretty easily, _Lambert_ doesn’t have any trouble finding the buckle to his own belt, and then his arms follow. Geralt allows himself to drift as he feels the small tugs as Lambert tries to undo the knots. He hears a resigned sigh and then there’s a different sensation as Lambert’s forced to cut through the knots he'd made. Oh well, Geralt can ride bareback; guiding Roach without the reins wouldn’t be difficult.   
  
Lambert is gentle with him as he undoes the leather twists around his forearms, and Geralt knows better than to shift his arms to the front right away, especially the one he’s lying on. Lambert’s helping him sit up, and then gets him through the stiffness of his limbs and the feeling of needles and pins that appears by massaging his shoulders and arms before guiding them carefully to Geralt’s front. Only then does Lambert reach up to start freeing Geralt’s mouth from his bridle, _Roach'_ bridle, and oh Geralt’s going to be having an issue with that now…  
  
He'll get her some new gear, the first chance he gets.  
  
He doesn’t pay too much attention to Lambert loosening the buckles on his bridle, but all of a sudden he’s just _there_ in front of him, lightly tapping his jaw in a silent command to open up. Geralt tries, but he can’t, so Lambert carefully tugs and pulls the bit free from between his teeth, letting all the metal and leather bits and pieces fall to the ground. He cups Geralt’s face with both of his hands, holding him just below his jaw, and he starts massaging his sore muscles.  
  
Geralt still can’t remember the encounter with the alp, but now that he’s sitting up and facing the other direction he can see a horned head propped up against a log: a witcher’s trophy. His brow furrows as he senses the memories just beyond his grasp. An alp with _horns_? Some hybrid.  
  
Something was being nudged into his hand. “Drink, you need it. Getting you some food and clean clothes.” Lambert narrows his eyes at him and gives him a once over. “You all right sitting up like this?”  
  
“Yeah,” Geralt confirms, nodding for emphasis. Taking a sip from the already uncorked waterskin, he closes his eyes at the taste. Oh, but water never tasted so good before…  
  
Satisfied with his response, Lambert walks towards their packs and starts searching around in them.  
  
Geralt forces himself to take a few more sips of water, even though it feels like he’s lifting a heavy barrel filled with hammers instead of just a small waterskin. Overall though, he’s feeling happily relaxed. Content. It’s… _odd_ , but he likes the way his mind’s still feeling a bit floaty. It reminds him of a tipsy buzz, but nicer.  
  
Lambert returns to his side soon enough and crouches down in front of him. “Clean clothes, or food first?”  
  
Geralt just knows that the moment he’s eaten he’ll be falling asleep, and he does not want to wake up in sticky trousers. “Clothes,” he manages to say, his voice still a bit rough.  
  
Nodding, Lambert gets this determined look on his face, and he’s quick and efficient as he helps Geralt change and clean himself as his legs are all wobbly and unsteady. This should feel weirder, this was _Lambert_ for crying out loud. And why wasn’t Lambert freaking out!? Why was he acting like this was _normal_?  
  
A few minutes later they’re both sitting next to each other. Lambert’s reaching into the small sack he’d brought with him and hands Geralt a sweet bun, cut in half with strips of roasted chicken stacked in between. He takes out another one for himself and eagerly starts in on it.  
  
It tastes good, and it seems to be just the thing Geralt needs and he starts feeling more and more like himself. Like he’s standing with two feet on the ground instead of drifting up in the clouds.  
  
There’s a sugary smell wafting from the sack and, upon his curious look, Lambert pulls out a sugar doll. For an instant, Geralt tenses, and he can already imagine the horse jokes Lambert’s going to fire at him.  
  
Lambert says nothing though, just breaks the doll in half and starts nibbling away at his own piece.  
  
Geralt accepts the halve he’s given and takes alternative bites out of the bun and the doll, creating a nice combination of lightly spiced chicken on soft buttery bread and the intense flavour of the sugar. He does break off one of the doll’s legs and sets it aside to give to Roach, later.  
  
He’s feeling completely sated by the time he’s finished with his food, both from his _explorations_ and the food, and he nearly tilts over as a jaw-splitting yawn catches him unawares.  
  
“I can imagine how you’re feeling,” Lambert says, before helping Geralt up, guiding him to the other side of their small camp, towards Lambert's own bedroll, and helping him get in it. “Wake you in a few hours,” he murmurs softly, patting Geralt’s shoulder.  
  
Feeling warm and comfortingly heavy, Geralt imagines Yennefer settling in behind him and resting her hand on his arm as he drifts off to sleep.  
  
**The end**


End file.
